Dragon Age: Swift, Silent Death
by O.G. Green
Summary: A former Grey Warden turned outlaw must choose between revenge or redemption in order to clear his name...
1. Chapter 1

Dragon Age: Swift, Silent Death

by O.G. Green

AN: Everything except my own, original characters is the sole intellectual property of Bioware/EA. This story takes place thirty years after the events depicted in Dragon Age: Origins. Last, but by no means least, I dedicate this story to the biggest DA fan: Blondie. My muse, my beautiful Valkyrie… you can take me to Valhalla anytime.

9:60 Dragon

100 miles south of Denerim

Base of Dragon's Peak

Ser Olin de Grise wondered for the umpteenth time why the Arl of South Reach couldn't allow his knights to forgo wearing full plate until they reached Denerim. He envied the men-at-arms and archers outfitted in chainmail or studded leather armor. All wore the emerald and ebony colors of South Reach on their tabards. As captain of the arl's household guards, Ser Olin had the responsibility of safeguarding South Reach's annual tithe to the Kingdom of Ferelden. It would be an easier journey if his lord had decided to stay behind in the arling. The knight wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief, wishing that one of the servants would bring forth water. Too bad they were all fawning over the arl in his private carriage.

Besides his arl's carriage, there were four other wagons laden with supplies and chests of gold. The chests were carved from pine, banded by iron, and secured by heavy locks. Ser Olin led a group of six mounted knights, ten archers, and forty men-at-arms. He had pleaded with the arl to muster a larger force but the lord of South Reach dismissed his concern. We will not enter Denerim with an army stated the arl.

We are merely bringing forth a payment to His Majesty, Alistair the Grey. We do not want to provoke the Royal Army or the Grey Wardens into rash action. Ser Olin could do nothing but grit his teeth. He sincerely prayed that the Maker watched over them as they traveled to the capital.

He was about to call out for a servant to bring his men water when the first arrow sped through the air then punctured his cuirass. Blood seeped down his tabard as the second arrow pierced his right shoulder and knocked him off his destrier. Ser Olin heard the cry, "To arms! To arms!". But he was now out of the fight, bleeding freely on the road.

The men-at-arms spread out in two even lines and took to either side of the road, longswords in hand. The knights spun their destriers around and took positions around the arl's carriage. Archers clambered onto the wagons, arrows nocked, and ready to let fly. Servants cowered under the wagons praying to a variety of deities for salvation. Everyone braced themselves for the coming onslaught.

Ser Olin could only watch in abject horror as explosions rocked the column with fire and smoke. One by one the archers were shot in the throat with unerring accuracy, their arrows still nocked in their bows. When the last one fell off the wagons, horns could be heard in the distance. The ground trembled as a group of Chasind Wilders charged forth from the treeline armed with swords and axes. They wore furs and patched leather armor. Some carried round shields and all had tribal markings on their faces. The war cry that they shouted forth stunned the hapless soldiers from South Reach. The sound of steel clanging and the wails of dying men assaulted the ears as both groups crashed into each other.

The captain of the arl's household guard struggled to sit upright. He took note of the black-shafted arrow that protruded from his chest. Then his eyes widened in surprise at the fletching. Two gold bands encircled the base of the shaft below the feathers. Only one archer in all of Ferelden carried this mark on his arrows.

"By the Maker…", sputtered the dying knight.

Ser Olin felt a vicious kick that lifted his broken body into the air only to crash into the hard road. He spat out blood as a hooded figure strode towards him. The dark cloaked warrior wore drakeskin armor dyed midnight black and inscribed with swirling, Dalish script that faintly glowed iridescent green. Belted at his waist was the silverite war axe known throughout the kingdom as Skull-Crusher. Also carried on that same belt was a wicked looking Dar'Misu fighting knife forged from red steel, Mage-Skinner, for its wielder had gutted over a thousand so-called wizards. But it was the bow that was carried in the other man's hand that Ser Olin recognized his assailant.

An ancestral heartwood longbow with white steel fittings, its center filled with a large sapphire. The bow's string was laminated dragon sinew. It had a crimson aura from the nobles it had killed in the last decade or so. For its arrows always hit their mark. The dreaded Liege-Killer…

The archer took off his hood, exposing fine Half-Elven features. His long raven hair was kept in place by an intricate white headpiece worn on the top of his head. Piercing, ice-grey eyes stared down at the wounded knight. No mercy or compassion would be found there. The pointed ears twitched once and his mouth curled up into a cruel smile. He took Skull-Crusher from his belt and struck off Ser Olin's helm. Then the savage half-elven archer smashed the silverite war axe into the stump of a tree. Grabbing the knight's hair, the dark cloaked warrior spoke in a low voice.

"Are you surprised, whelp of South Reach? Yes, Vorhonn the Red-Handed still lives, and I will sate my bloodlust on all of Ferelden!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Watch, Ser Olin, and bear witness to the beginning of the end…"

Vorhonn threw the hapless knight aside and took another black-shafted arrow from his quiver. The half-elven rogue nocked the arrow and drew back his arm. Sighting on the first knight, he let the arrow fly. The twang of the laminated bowstring could be heard over the din of battle. As it passed through the sapphire's aura, the arrow was engulfed by a tendril of midnight blue energy. When it struck its target, the South Reach knight was vaporized on contact. The explosion tore open the arl's carriage and killed another defender who stood too close to the blast area. The Chasind Wilders surged forth again, cutting down the men-at-arms to half their number. Some of the Wilders began to bang their axes against their shields, a terrifying rhythm that unnerved the surrounded defenders.

A second hooded archer walked up to Vorhonn, with a stag-handled hunting knife in hand. The half-elven rogue stopped the other archer in mid-stride by merely touching the wrist.

"Leave him be, apprentice. Bind his wounds and ensure that Ser Olin bears witness to the king."

Without another word, Vorhonn the Red-Handed grabbed Skull-Crusher and slid the war axe into its sheath on his belt. The South Reach guards were now fewer in number but still fiercely resisted the advance of the Chasind Wilders. The remaining knights hacked and slashed with their swords as Chasind tribesmen pelted them with stones. Less than twenty men-at-arms were left standing but continued to fight out of desperation. They had heard who commanded this horde. The arl's guards knew they would receive no quarter.

Vorhonn the Red-Handed had always fought under a black flag. Even during his service as the Grey Wardens High Constable, justice was always swift and decisive. No fugitives ever escaped from his notice, fewer still from his reach. Among the nobility, they called him the King's Lord High Executioner but never to his face. More than one bann found himself impaled on either Mage-Skinner or Skull-Crusher for challenging the former High Constable.

The South Reach defenders now were totally encircled by the Chasind who continued to jeer them. The shouts and catcalls died down as the dark cloaked archer marched down the hill. The tribesmen broke ranks as Vorhonn the Red-Handed approached the surrounded warriors. He laid his bow Liege-Killer against a tree as well as his back quiver. Then he removed his Dalish cloak and folded it neatly next to his bow. Both Skull-Crusher and Mage-Skinner hummed faintly on his belt.

"Men of South Reach, you have been soundly defeated. I will now give you a choice: lay down your arms and surrender your arl to me. You will have safe passage to Denerim and be able to live out the rest of your days."

The men-at-arms held their swords and shields close to their bodies as they looked at one another in confusion. The three remaining knights formed a wedge with their mounts and held their lances high. The lead knight raised his visor and looked down on his lord, who cowered behind his guards. A faint whiff of urine filled the air as the Arl of South Reach wet his breeches. Disgusted, the knight turned his attention back to the half-elven archer.

"Thanks for your offer of safe passage but as the arl's household guard, we respectfully decline. Prepare to meet the Maker, you half-breed bastard!"

The knight slammed down his helm's visor and spurred his destrier forward, gaining speed for a charge. The other two South Reach knights followed his lead. All three leveled their lances towards Vorhonn the Red-Handed who stood his ground. The Chasind Wilders looked on with admiration for the half-breed archer who dared three mounted knights.

Vorhonn kicked up Liege-Killer into his waiting hands. He took a mechanical broadhead arrow from his quiver and fired in single motion. Upon striking the lead destrier, four hooked barbs shredded the animal's brain. The sudden stop threw the lead knight out of the saddle onto the ground. Next, Vorhonn chose a bodkin pointed arrow then aimed for the second knight's visor. The black-shafted arrow sped towards its intended victim skewering the knight in the left eye. The dying knight slumped off his mount, got entangled in the horse's legs, and both were killed in the next moment as they tumbled on the ground. For the last knight, Vorhonn used a large forked-head arrow. The black-shafted projectile whistled towards the knight and beheaded him on the first pass helm and all. The headless corpse flopped onto the ground with his equally dead brothers. The Chasind Wilders whooped and hollered at this unusual display of martial prowess.

Vorhonn retrieved the rest of his gear as his apprentice rode towards him on a great white stallion. Two Chasind raiders carried a litter that bore a moaning Ser Olin. After directing the raiders to leave the surviving knight by the side of the road, the apprentice turned to Vorhonn. The half-elven rogue gave a curt smile.

"Why did you not let me gut that whore-son? Why are we allowing him to live?"

Vorhonn gently brushed aside his apprentice's hood. Dirty blonde tresses fell across the other's shoulders and exposed a beautiful maiden's face. He held the younger archer's face with a gloved hand.

"Suevi, my dear second, King Alistair the Grey needs to suffer first. He will witness the destruction of his people, his land, and his legacy. Only then will we finally take his pitiful life…"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

9:60 Dragon

The Main Audience Hall

Royal Palace, Denerim

King Alistair the Grey strode into the hall followed by a large gaggle of courtiers. With an irritated glance at his chamberlain, he sat down on his throne and adjusted the goose-down cushion. He held out his hand for a sheaf of parchments that his chamberlain had prepared for his approval. The king quickly read through the documents, scribbled his mark with a quill, and stamped each with his ring. Upon finishing this task, he ordered everyone to clear the hall except for the chamberlain. The Royal Guards exited last and secured the hall's entrance.

"Rupert, do me a favor. The next time I need to sign documents, have the queen do it instead. My sword arm is developing quite a cramp and I so want to participate at this year's tourney."

Rupert Montagu, Lord Chamberlain to the king of Ferelden, chuckled at his majesty's jest. Everyone at court knew the queen told him that under no circumstances was the king to ever participate in a tourney. In 9:40 Dragon, the king was severely injured in the grand melee only because he disguised himself and wasn't wearing the royal livery. Lord Rupert had received such a tongue lashing from the queen that he routinely sent newly promoted sergeants to learn how to swear viciously.

"My apologies, your majesty. You do remember the queen's prohibition on your active participation in any tourney. If you do decide to go ahead and ignore her wishes, be advised that she will draw and quarter me first before turning her blades on you." The Lord Chamberlain gave a wan smile.

King Alistair looked like a spanked bottom when he frowned. He could never understand why his wife denied him the simple pleasure of mock combat. Since the end of the Fifth Blight, he missed the rush of adrenaline that a life and death struggle brought. He commanded both the Royal Army and the Grey Wardens but led from the comfort of his throne not on the front lines of battle. Only in parades and formal ceremonies did he personally lead either group. There were days that he wished for the simpler life of a wandering Templar. He pulled a silken cord which summoned a servant who brought in a carafe of wine and two crystal glasses. The Lord Chamberlain dismissed the servant then poured wine for both the king and himself. Both men enjoyed their refreshment silently.

Their break was disturbed by the opening of the entrance by the guards who allowed a Royal Army officer into the hall. The officer wore a suit of chainmail with plate greaves over his leather boots. His plain black scabbard held a well-worn longsword carried by his left hip. The tabard was a field of white with a rampant blood-red dragon, the current colors for the kingdom. His right hand carried a spangenhelm with cheek flaps. When the officer stopped in front of the throne, he sank to one knee and bowed his head.

"Your Majesty, I am Ser Johann Alvensen of the Royal Scouts. My apologies to the court for I am the bearer of dire news of the utmost importance."

Both the king and the Lord Chamberlain looked up from their drinks. They exchanged a worried look before the king finally spoke.

"Rise, Ser Alvensen, and tell us of these dire tidings you carry with you. Let me be the judge if the news you bring us will disturb our peace." Alistair finished his wine and placed the glass on the tray beside him. Ser Alvensen rose to his full height, straightened his tabard, and cleared his throat. Beads of sweat could be seen on his forehead.

"Your Majesty, earlier this morning the Arl of South Reach and his retinue were waylaid by Chasind brigands. From the survivors we've spoken to, those brigands were led by Vorhonn the Red-Handed. The accounts all tell of a Half-Elven archer wielding a bow that matches the description of Liege-Killer. The arl was crucified and the annual tithe was also taken. The Royal Exchequer tallied the loss at several hundred thousand gold sovereigns."

King Alistair grimaced at this announcement. He took the dragon embossed, white metal scepter in his hand and tapped it against his knee. There are days where I really wish that I never accepted the proposition of being the ruler of Ferelden, the king thought to himself. He waited a moment longer then stood up.

"Ser Alvensen, you have done your king and your country a great service. Take your leave now. Please, rest for three days, then resume your post. For if the Red-Handed has indeed returned, I will muster both the Royal Army and the Grey Wardens to pursue him. You have my thanks."

Dismissed, Ser Alvensen withdrew from the main audience hall and the entrance was once again locked by the king's guards. Both Lord Rupert and King Alistair looked outside and admired the view from the balcony. They stood that way for a time until a breeze blew through the hall. The king chuckled mirthlessly.

"Show yourself, Zevran Arainai. You may be ranked a master among the Antivan Crows but I can still sense your presence. I may be royalty but I am the Warden-Commander of all Ferelden. The Lord Chamberlain is my most trusted advisor, we can speak freely here."

The Antivan elf dropped the illusion that kept him concealed from the royals. He wore a matching leather jerkin, breeches, and boots of fine doeskin. A belt of mixed metal rounds carried his longsword and a Crow dagger of Volcanic Aurum. The dagger's metal was an indication of his rise among the assassins.

"My, my, your majesty. How formal we are today. Ah, I so miss our days of journeying together and our discussions underneath the stars by campfire. Makes you long for yesterday, no?"

Alistair turned towards the assassin. In two, swift strides the king crossed the distance between himself and the Antivan. His arm shot out and grabbed the elf by the throat. The king slammed Zevran's head so hard, he cracked the marble wall. A trickle of blood seeped from the elf's mouth. Zevran smiled at the enraged king whose chest was heaving.

"Now that the pleasantries are over, let's move onto business. You once asked if the Ferelden monarchy makes much use of assassins…"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

9:60 Dragon

The Drunken Wench tavern

Later that evening…

Zevran Arainai deftly made his way through the crowd towards a private room in the back of the tavern. The Drunken Wench always turned a hefty profit since it was popular with both the commoners and the lords of Denerim. Located in a back alley next to the Elven Alienage, the tavern had a notorious reputation for its backroom deals and the quality of its serving girls. The Wench's owner, One-Eyed Arris, fought alongside good King Maric during the Ferelden Revolution. Arris kept the bar stocked with best ale, mead, and wine for his customers. His wife ran a fine kitchen that earned praise from Queen Leliana herself for such dishes as Steaming Cheese Baked Potato and Minced Meat Pie. The décor is minimal: a bronto's head is mounted over the bar and two portraits of a nude female elf holding a bastard sword adorned the walls. The tables and chairs were crafted from yew, sturdy enough to survive a bar brawl and easily replaced. In his free hand, Zevran carried a bottle of Black Scythe liqueur and in the other a leather pouch heavy with coins.

He approached the Qunari mercenary who guarded the entrance to the private rooms. The mercenary stood seven and a half feet tall, wearing black leather trousers, calf-length boots, and gripped a bar mace. The bar mace was forged from four separate steel bars with a wood and leather grip. A large, steel pommel balanced this fearsome weapon. Zevran noted the mercenary's tattoos which proclaimed his affiliation as a member of the Beresaad. He nodded to the gatekeeper who silently allowed Zevran entry to the private rooms. When the door closed, the Antivan elf walked to the center door then rapped twice in quick succession.

The door opened a fraction of an inch and the business end of a sailor's crossbow was aimed at Zevran. Through the haze of incense and smoke, the assassin could make out five other forms lying around an oval ash table on oversized, goose-down cushions. He held up the bottle of Black Scythe for all to see.

"Am I late to the feast? I bring fine spirits for you turd-sucking louts. You all have no appreciation for the finer things in life. Let me in, for I bring joyous news, hmm?"

The crossbow was lowered and the door swung open by a red-headed dwarf in steel chainmail. His beard had crumbs and bits of mutton, remains of the dinner he had earlier. Zevran remembered this dwarf, recalled his name: Dhurge Blackhand. A brigand and pirate who plied his trade on the Waking Sea. Just the kind of killer the Antivan wanted on this coming hunt. He smiled at the dwarven pirate who belched and scratched his arse. Zevran walked to an empty space and sat down. He opened the bottle, sipping a small amount of the liqueur inside. Then he passed the bottle around.

The next guest who partook of the Black Scythe was Goybet de Naudin, an Orlesian blood mage well-known in the halls of Val Royeaux. Besides his formidable magics, Goybet was also a skilled poisoner. He nodded his thanks to Zevran and gave the bottle to the next guest.

A slender Dalish maiden dressed in a frilly, white shirt and doeskin leggings accepted a sip of Black Scythe. The leather jerkin and thigh-high riding boots accentuated her curves. Zevran only knew Bloody Liada by reputation but she had been recommended to him by the elders. She preyed upon the settlements in the Southron Hills using blade and bow to extort the banns for free passage of their goods. When the mood took her, she waylaid those same goods and ransomed them back for twice their value. A crafty vixen she was.

The next one to drink from the bottle was a massive Avvar clothed in a steel cuirass and Blightwolf furs. By his side was a massive Veridium double-bladed battle-axe and twin-horned helm. Varrok the Merciless hunted just about everything that flew, moved, or slithered on Ferelden. In the Frostback Mountains where he calls home, it is rumored that he killed an adult dragon with a bronto's jawbone. While Zevran preferred finesse over primal, brute force there was no denying that the Avvar's tracking skills would be essential to locating Vorhonn's hideout. The barbarian sucked down half the bottle before passing it to the final guest.

Knight-Commander Hadrian of the Templars sat on a comfortable cushion smoking a pixie stick. The waft of the illicit narcotic made Zevran's head yearn for a hit. The Antivan Crows have had many dealings with the corrupt Hadrian. The Knight-Commander has even been commissioned to murder key members of both the Chantry and the Circle of Magi whenever the opportunity arose. Hadrian finished the bottle then tossed it aside. All eyes were now on Zevran.

"I have a very, very indecent proposition for you all. The irony of it is that for once the law will be on _our _side."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

9:60 Dragon

Brecilian Forest

Three Days Later…

Suevi sat inside the cabin working on a sketch. The deft movements of her hands as the charcoal stick brushed onto the parchment were a testament to her dexterity. On the walls of the cabin were sketches of fantastical creatures, mythical battles, and portraits of the people in her life. The subject of her eye was currently sleeping in the corner of the main room. She continued to study the master archer who was again the most wanted outlaw in Ferelden. The ash blonde girl thought about what she really knew about the life of Vorhonn the Red-Handed.

Thirty years ago at the First Battle of Redcliffe during the Fifth Blight, Vorhonn Aletys-Mal'Xian was a ventenar in the employ of Bann Teagan Guerrin from Rainesfere. Alistair was among the Grey Wardens who assisted Bann Teagan in defending Redcliffe from the invading darkspawn horde. Alistair and Vorhonn would meet again at the Battle of Denerim; Alistair at the head of the Royal Army and Vorhonn as a centenar commanding a company of archers. Together their efforts slew the Archdemon and saved the kingdom.

After his coronation, King Alistair offered Vorhonn the position of Royal Forester after the archer resigned his commission in the army. He served there for several years managing Ferelden's hunting preserves. In 9:35 Dragon, King Alistair expanded the ranks of the Grey Wardens after the discovery of The Architect and his Disciples. With a new war looming with the darkspawn, Vorhonn underwent The Joining and became centenar of the famed Gryphon Brigade.

After this uprising was quelled, the king realized that the Royal Army would be hard-pressed to keep the peace in the land without assistance from the Grey Wardens. He re-instituted the office of the High Constable and appointed Vorhonn Aletys-Mal'Xian to the post. An office that he served faithfully until 9:50 Dragon when he was arrested by royal edict, stripped of title and lands, and imprisoned. That's when the High Constable became the Red-Handed. Suevi didn't know what caused a Grey Warden to become an outlaw. Someday, she hoped that Master Vorhonn would enlighten her on that subject.

"You're wasting your talent, apprentice. Ferelden needs more artists, not archers. The nobility would reward you well for working on their portraits."

Suevi smiled at the unkempt master archer. His hair was unwashed, his bedclothes wrinkled, and he was in need of a good bath. She had already laid out his armor and weapons on the oaken chest. Training would begin in earnest.

She wanted to master Falon'Din's Reach, the great war-bow she now possessed. Who better to instruct her than the most notorious archer in Ferelden?

Little did she know that today the cost of that knowledge would come with a very high price …

"They're nearby. The tracks are faint but have been made by well-crafted boots. See where the heel makes a faint impression? It's the Red-Handed and maybe another who accompanies him."

Zevran looked over to the clearing where the cabin was. From the amount of gold sovereigns he spent, he hoped that the intelligence he got was right. Varrok had gotten them this far. The Avvar's tracking skills were exceptional. Not even the Grey Wardens have been able to get this close.

Behind him Bloody Liada was sharpening a short sword with a cutting stone. Goybet de Naudin was preparing spells and wards for the upcoming battle. Dhurge Blackhand loaded his third crossbow with wicked barbed bolts. Knight-Commander Hadrian impatiently waited for the party to complete their tasks so they could sally forth and kill that half-elven bastard. He drank cool wine from a bronto horn.

Zevran wanted to get a better lay of the land so the Antivan Crow nonchalantly sauntered forward to the edge of the treeline. Varrok the Merciless was searching in the other direction when he realized what direction the elf was moving. Horrified, the Avvar tracker rushed forward but didn't stop Zevran's progress in time. The pressure plate clicked underneath Zevran's boot.

Behind him, a concealed sylvan crossbow shot a bolt that impacted a fire bomb that exploded onto the Templar commander. Flames engulfed the templar who screamed for several agonizing minutes. He swayed to and fro until Dhurge Blackhand took up one of his crossbows and fired into the templar's head. The burning corpse sent out waves of black, oily smoke.

The hunters had now become the prey…

Vorhonn was enjoying the simple pleasures of bathing when he heard the fire bomb go off. Reflexively, he quickly dried off, donned his jerkin and leggings, then grabbed Liege-Killer. He had slung his quiver on one shoulder and the belt that carried his hand weapons. Suevi had followed his lead rushing out the back door, an arrow already nocked in her bow. She too carried her quiver and a greatsword she had been practicing with. The master archer allowed himself to chuckle once then his features slackened. He entered the meditative state known as Falon'Din's Embrace.

In his mind's eye, time had slowed to a crawl. His every sense was now magnified a thousandfold. The crackle of burning flesh alerted him to where the enemy was. With a feral grin, Vorhonn the Red-Handed loped off into the clearing. The avatar of the elven god of death would have several offerings to give this day.

Zevran cursed his carelessness. Not only did he accidentally alert the Red-Handed but also got an ally killed. Varrok unlimbered his double-headed battle axe and shrugged off his cloak. Dhurge stayed in cover behind some fallen logs, his precious crossbows within reach. Bloody Liada sheathed her sword and strung her ironbark longbow, an arrow bag lay next to her. Goybet de Naudin finished casting his wards then took up his staff. The Antivan Crow drew his longsword and ordered the fighters to follow him. He hadn't stepped three paces when Suevi fired a bodkin pointed arrow that tore into his knee. The scream of anger and pain that Zevran released sounded throughout the valley.

The apprentice faded from view among the trees. Before Zevran was able to stand again, he saw Dhurge Blackhand pierced by a rain of black-shafted arrows that materialized above him. The Antivan Crow looked on with disbelief as the dwarven crossbowman dropped onto the earth like a living pin-cushion, bleeding to death from hundreds of wounds.

The Orlesian mage lifted his staff firing a bolt of arcane energy that sheared off a number of trees. Suevi hung upside down from a hidden platform and loosed a trio of arrows. The first, a triangular pointed barb, contained a cylinder of magebane. It struck the mage's shield which shimmered briefly then died. The second, a leaf-shaped broadhead, was enchanted by the spell Thundersong. Upon impact the arrow shattered then released a bright, white light that blinded the attackers and created an enormous boom of sonic energy. Goybet felt his eardrums shatter and blood flow freely from his ears. Finally, another bodkin pointed arrow sliced through the blood mage's throat.

The concentrated Crow poison laced arrowhead made the blood mage's final moments an eternal agony. Even before the last arrow was fired, Suevi swiftly moved to another position. She could barely see Vorhonn's form moving on the battlefield. Only the Dalish, the Avvar, and the Antivan were left. She hoped that Master Vorhonn and herself could pull off yet another victory.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

AN: First, listen to Amon Amath while reading this chapter. It'll get your blood pumping for sure. Second, another shout-out to Blondie: Without your advice, I'd never have been able to slay the Archdemon much less storm the gates at Denerim. Enjoy!

Outside the Red-Handed's hideout

Brecilian Forest

Late afternoon…

Varrok the Merciless was breathing hard. He couldn't remember the last time an enemy had pushed him to his limits. Even the ogre he stalked last winter didn't give him the challenge he craved. The Avvarian hunter thought this half-elven archer would be yet another easy mark.

He had seriously under-estimated the opposition.

Judging by the sun's position, Varrok knew they had fought for several hours already. He was bleeding from several puncture wounds. There was an arrow still lodged in his back and another was stuck in his left thigh. Sweat dripped off his body like rainwater. He should have known Zevran didn't tell them everything about their prey. Thankfully, he also gave Master Vorhonn a couple of mementos to remember him by.

In another part of the forest, Suevi was binding some minor wounds of her own. Her supply of arrows was dwindling; only a handful was left in her quiver. She had expended the majority of her ammunition in the opening attack. To go back to the cabin was too risky. Her enemies knew either she or Master Vorhonn would try to return and re-supply themselves from the stock there. She took up her bow once more, quietly blending among the trees.

Zevran sat upright as he blinked his eyes. In the midst of all the fighting, he must have tripped and knocked himself out. Vorhann the Red-Handed and his partner were proving themselves to be exceptional combatants. Blood pooled in splotches here and there on his leather armor. To take three of their number out in the initial engagement and continue to harass the rest was simply amazing. He gripped his longsword tighter as he scanned the area for either the master archer or his apprentice.

Bloody Liada moaned as she popped her shoulder back into place. She spat out bloody phlegm as she flexed the fingers of her right arm. The Dalish brigand really wanted to take that blonde archer out. Keep her alive long enough to strip her flesh off. Nail that hide to her trophy wall as a reminder never to trust an Antivan Crow. Her ironbark bow was cleaved in two. The short sword was chipped in places along its edge. Some of those spots were flecked with blood too.

In a concealed blind nestled in the tree-tops, Vorhonn the Red-Handed observed the ground below. Both he and Suevi had taken a vicious toll on their attackers. Killing both the mage and the crossbowman early gave the archers an advantage. But their remaining foes seemed just as determined to survive. He drank cool water from a clay jar and chewed on some nug jerky. His wounds were already dressed and bound. Glancing at the small hand mirror in his lap, the fresh scar that adorned his cheek faintly pulsed and bled. A memento from the battle axe of Varrok the Merciless. The master archer knew that if he and Suevi were to survive then they had to end this fight soon. The Ferelden Army and the Grey Wardens couldn't be too far behind. Vorhonn swallowed the remains of his meal and made preparations for what could very well be his final battle.

The grove of pine trees and boulders had attracted the attention of Bloody Liada who naturally assumed that would provide excellent concealment for the archers. She silently crept up to the grove, short-sword in hand. The Dalish brigand continued her approach, a cruel smile on her face. So engrossed was she in delightful thoughts of torture that she missed the heavy steel leg-trap that snapped shut below her left knee.

"Arrggghhh…,"was all she could manage. Then she screamed, "Come on out here you little bitch! A cheap trap? Is this the best that you can manage you smelly whore?"

When the point of the dragonbone greatsword burst through Liada's chest, she stared at it, dumbfounded. The Dalish raider's breaths came out in short pants, blood dripping from her mouth. Her bulging eyes desperately searched for her killer. The faint scent of sandalwood incense wafted up as a leather gloved hand savagely gripped her chin. Then Liada felt a woman's cheek touch hers and a heavenly voice whisper the following: "I've always been a better lay than you, Liada. Always."

Suevi pulled out the greatsword then swung it in a wide arc. Bloody Liada's head was cleaved off and spun in a lazy arc landing among a group of crows. They immediately took advantage of this unexpected feast.

Vorhonn the Red-Handed leaped away moments before the veridium double-bladed battle-axe smashed into the ground he was standing on. The Avvarian hunter had expertly maneuvered him into a trap. His back was to open space thanks to Varrok's craftiness. Vorhonn stood on a small piece of ground, a cliff that looked over a thousand-foot drop. The master archer nocked his final arrow across the bow. A leaf-shaped broadhead threatened the barbarian, the steel arrowhead shining brightly in the daylight. The dark cloaked outlaw had a smile on his face. Varrok smiled also; a toothy grin broke out on an otherwise ugly face. The half-elven archer loosed the arrow.

Varrok raised the battle-axe to deflect it. The black-shafted arrow clanged off the axe-head and embedded itself into a nearby pine tree. The moment the Avvar raised his axe, Vorhonn leapt up onto the axe's handle and somersaulted over the hunter's massive body. In mid-air, he smashed Liege-Killer into the brute's neck. With a muffled grunt, Varrok sank down to one knee as stars danced in his vision. Enraged, the Avvar swung his axe towards the archer who blocked the terrible blow with Liege-Killer. Sparks flew as the axe head scraped across the bow and cut the laminated string.

Vorhonn sighed at this new development. Laminated dragon sinew was hard to come by. Yet another trip to cheery Orzammar… He laid the bow against the tree. Both Skull-Crusher and Mage-Skinner hummed with renewed intensity. The half-elven archer unsheathed both weapons and swung them in lazy circles.

"You have fought well today, Varrok the Merciless. Bards will sing of this battle. They will remember your name but its mine they will revere!"

The Avvar charged forward, consumed with bloodlust. Vorhonn ran forward to meet him. Varrok swung his mighty axe to the left, slicing the empty space where the half-elf was a moment ago. Rolling underneath the blow, Vorhonn slashed with Skull-Crusher which ripped open a gash on the hunter's leg. Spurts of blood flew out spraying moss and rocks. Varrok butted the half-elf with the axe's haft. Seeing his enemy stunned, Varrok kicked the archer in the chest. The half-elf crashed onto his back, gashing his head on a boulder. Blood streamed from a torn scalp. Varrok raised the battle axe once more, ready to deliver the killing blow.

"NO!"

Suevi appeared with Falon'Din's Reach in her hands. She loosed an ash-shafted arrow with a bodkin point. It skewered both of Varrok's wrists together and caused the giant to stagger to his left. The sizzle of meat burning could be heard and flesh bubbled on the Avvar's arms. Suevi tossed the bow aside then rushed Varrok with her greatsword. Touching the grandmaster flame rune embedded in the hilt, the blade was engulfed with eldritch fire. She batted aside the Avvar's feeble attempt to raise his axe again and plunged the blade into his chest. Reddish-orange fire blazed forth from the giant's eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. Consumed by the inferno, Varrok's body was transmogrified into ash as a northerly wind blew. His remains were scattered all along the countryside.

Vorhonn was helped into a sitting position by Suevi. She began to dress and bind his wounds. As his apprentice tended to him, Vorhonn took out a flask filled with Chasind sack mead. He swallowed a mouthful then offered his apprentice the flask. She shook her head no.

"By the Maker, girl! You deserve this more than I do. I'm glad to see your skills have improved since the spring…"

There were tears in Suevi's eyes as her mentor praised her. She accepted the flask and took a drink. Her eyes got wide as the mead burned its way down her throat. Suevi coughed. Vorhonn chuckled. The celebration was short-lived as a steel-bladed Crow dagger struck the tree besides his head. Zevran limped into view, a longsword in one hand and daggers in the other.

"Time for a little bloodletting, I see…", said Zevran.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Both Vorhonn the Red-Handed and Suevi were both surprised that the Antivan Crow was still among the living. The master archer cursed his own carelessness in dismissing Zevran's uncanny ability to be just in the right place at the absolute worst time. He remembered all of King Alistair's stories concerning the elven assassin. From that first ambush along the old Imperial Highway to the final battle at Denerim, the king remarked on Zevran's absence during a fight until a killing blow was really needed. Then the assassin would appear as if from thin air and strike down the enemy. Vorhonn dismissed the king's tales as ale-induced fantasy. Yes, he heard of the Antivan Crows. He'd even accepted a contract or two and was paid handsomely for his services. To believe the Crows possessed mystical powers was pure bronto turds. Yet, here was Zevran, injured but intact. A problem that now had fatal consequences for himself and his apprentice.

"Speechless my friends?" asked Zevran. "Ah, well. I do love to work in front of a captive audience." The Antivan pointed the tip of his longsword towards the archers.

Suevi helped Master Vorhonn to his feet. Their eyes met briefly as her mentor slightly nodded his head. Zevran seemed to be enjoying his moment of victory. He had accomplished a task that even the vaunted Grey Wardens haven't been able to complete in a decade's worth of pursuit. Both archers were bloodied by the mercenaries he'd hired to wear them down. Their bows had been discarded; their hand weapons were out of reach. This was a moment to be relished the fey Antivan thought to himself.

It was the final mistake that Zevran would ever make.

Master Vorhonn batted the sword to his right and ducked as Suevi brought up the sylvanwood dart-thrower her mentor kept at the small of his back. She triggered the release of a triangulated pointed barb that whistled through the air then ignited in front of the assassin's face. Taking advantage of the elf's momentary blindness, she squeezed the trigger again and sent a second barbed dart that impaled Zevran's hand. The assassin dropped the daggers he carried in his right hand. Snarling with rage, the elf slashed Suevi with his longsword. He caught the apprentice along her left thigh, a new furrow of blood that seeped down her trousers.

Zevran lashes out again, striking Vorhonn with the flat of his blade. He follows up with a kick that smashes the master archer's knee with a sickening crunch. Laughing hysterically, the Antivan swings the sword's crossguard into the back of Vorhonn's head. The master archer flops onto the ground unconscious. More confident after this small victory, Zevran twirls his sword in a circle-eight pattern as he stalks Suevi. He waggles his tongue at the younger archer daring her to attack him directly.

Suevi gives him the finger then tosses a shock bomb at the Antivan. Zevran deftly smacks the flask away, shattering the device. He has avoided being electrocuted but still received a small jolt that has his body trembling. He swings the sword in an overhand arc that Suevi ducks under. Rolling forward, Suevi reaches out to the runic greatsword as Zevran swings again but only shears off a few golden locks of hair. Both Zevran and Suevi circle each other with their blades, each looking for an opening that they can exploit. Sweat has formed on their brows, their breathing now heavy.

It is the younger archer who rushes forward, screaming like a banshee from the Fade. Gripping the greatsword two-handed, Suevi slashes open Zevran's jerkin drawing blood. Then flicking her thumb over the grandmaster lightning rune, a bolt from the sky slashes down onto the assassin bathing him in electricity. Flesh sizzles then smokes as Zevran screams in intense pain.

Yet the Antivan refuses to die.

Infuriated with Zevran's survival, Suevi strikes the elf with all her remaining strength using the pommel of her greatsword. The Antivan Crow's head rocks back, his jaw broken as teeth fly from his ruined mouth. Still conscious, Zevran slashes at Suevi then stabs her in the left thigh. The younger archer yelps in surprise then knees Zevran in the face knocking him backwards. Suevi is able to remove and toss away the longsword but Zevran trips her by hooking the ankle. On the ground, both wrestle and clinch but it is the Antivan who comes out on top. Twisting Suevi's wrist, he disarms her and tosses aside the greatsword. He uses a flat-palm strike to the girl's throat then rears back and smashes her face with his good fist. Suevi struggles to breathe, to remain conscious as Zevran continues to savagely punch her.

Behind them, Vorhonn the Red-Handed awakens to see his apprentice being violently beaten down. He is weak; his once great strength is now diminished. The master archer can hear the Fade calling him, enticing him with promises of peaceful rest. This is not the end, he tells himself. It cannot end like this. Then he hears another voice. A voice he hasn't heard in a very long while.

"_Listen to me, Vorhonn Aletys-Mal'Xian, master archer, outlaw, hero to the poor and the oppressed. Today, you will bear witness to the birth of a new legend. One that will be sung alongside yours. For as long as The Red-Handed makes war, The Black Wolf will howl. Only together will you both achieve victory. Now my avatar, call my name! Draw upon my power! And save the one you hold dear!"_

"FALON'DIN!"

Vorhonn the Red-Handed felt himself awash in ghostly light. His eyes blazed with unbridled power. Although his body couldn't move, his hands traced ancient glyphs into existence. He gave a fearsome smile as the circle grew.

Inside a shadowy form coalesced into existence. It stood on four legs and swished its great tail. With frightening red eyes, it looked at Vorhonn the Red-Handed then nodded its head in thanks. Then it raised its head and gave a dreadful howl that reverberated through the land. The heavens darkened and the earth shook. A bolt of lightning struck the circle turning the half-elven's world into bright light. Spent, the master archer passed out again.

Zevran kept punching the younger archer who now sported several nasty bruises as well as a black eye. He was about to throw another punch to satisfy his thirst for revenge when the he heard the dreadful howl fill the air around him. Suevi awakened from her stupor, eyes blazing red with renewed energy. She reached up and grabbed the spent black-shafted arrow stuck in the tree beside her. Pulling the bodkin point free, she stabbed Zevran through his right eye. Blood and viscera sprayed through the air. Suevi freed her left leg and booted the elf off her. The blinded Antivan crawled on the ground, tears flowing freely, feebly trying to wrench the arrow free. Suevi took up her greatsword once more, enjoying the weight, the feel of the weapon. She spat on the now mewling elf.

"You should have run off when you had the chance. Tell the demons in the Fade who finally killed you, Antivan. Let them know the Black Wolf roams Thedas for fresh prey…"

With that last statement, Suevi struck Zevran in the throat and in a single rotation of her mighty blade beheaded the assassin. Picking up her trophy, the young archer gave a terrible howl of victory. For now, the battle was over. The gods had favored both Vorhonn the Red-Handed and The Black Wolf.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

9:60 Dragon

Brecilian Passage

The column of armored men and women had been marching for several days; a trail of dust could be seen for miles behind them. They wore steel Y-shaped barbute, chainmail hauberk, leather cuisses, and steel greaves over their boots. Some carried longswords on their belts while others toted bastard swords, javelins, or pole-axes. All had shields, whether round or kite, decorated with the heraldry of the Grey Wardens. The Grey Wardens from Orlais, that is. At the head of this column rode a group of chevaliers whose leader sat atop a midnight-black destrier. He was the Marquis de Gauthier, the Royal Champion of Val Royeaux.

The Marquis de Gauthier looked majestic in his Volcanic Aurum full-plate armor. Slung on the side of his saddle was a flanged silverite mace, nicknamed 'The Redeemer'. The bridle, saddle, and stirrups were crafted from the finest leather inlaid with Volcanic Aurum roundels. His shield was forged white steel adorned with both the griffin of the Grey Wardens and the blue and gold colors of his noble house. He hated being in Ferelden but could not ignore the orders from his empress, Celene I. According to the empress, they were here by personal request from Queen Leiliana herself. This made the Marquis de Gauthier grimace all the more.

After forty winters, the Royal Champion of Val Royeaux was ready to leave his mace and shield atop his fireplace's mantle. He was weary of the court's intrigues at the palace, yearning to retire to his estates in Montsimmard. Yet, her highness needed an officer of unquestionable pedigree to act as a liaison between the court and the Grey Wardens. Also, to keep abreast of their activities in case they ever plotted against her. Hence, his current ventures into Ferelden.

Next to the Empress's Champion was the Seigneur Phillipe Valois who rode a feisty white courser. While his plate armor and arms were moderate in comparison to the Marquis de Gauthier, Seigner Valois was an excellent chevalier and also the Commander of the Grey in the Orlesian Empire. He knew that the Royal Champion was there to spy on the Grey Wardens. Better to have the enemy you know rather than the one who remains hidden, the Commander thought to himself. He turned in the saddle to speak with the Marquis.

"It seems we've been chosen to partake in a fool's errand, no? Why would the empress send in a sizable force to search for an outlaw who is not a threat to the interests of Val Royeaux?"

The Marquis de Gauthier swallowed a mouthful of water from a canvas wineskin before answering.

"It's simple, Phillipe. Empress Celene wants a formal alliance with King Alistair, who also is his kingdom's Commander of the Grey. The Ferelden queen is Orlesian. She is also an assassin and a bard. Together, the court at Val Royeaux knows they cannot underestimate their strength. It is in the empire's best interests to assist our neighbor even if they all smell like dogs."

Seigner Valois laughed at the jest. He just hoped that they could finish this unpleasant business and return home in time for the annual Masquarade.

Near the Red-Handed's hideout…

Suevi watched the column march for the better part of the afternoon. Vorhonn the Red-Handed slept behind her, wrapped in linens and bandages.

He had serious injuries and was in need of a healer's services. At this point, she didn't care if the healer was a Circle Tranquil or a Grand Cleric from the Chantry. If her mentor didn't receive the proper care soon, the Fade would claim him. She was in somewhat better shape but was still sore from the wounds inflicted upon her by Zevran.

The Black Wolf. The name still echoed in her mind. She relived those agonizing moments when she thought Zevran almost killed her. The rush of eldritch power and vitality that coursed through her being and allowed her to slay the Antivan Crow. She knew the master archer had other skills besides the bow. What really frightened her was the thought of being more than human. Did Master Vorhonn save her life? Or did he end it? She hoped for her teacher's speedy recovery so he could answer her concerns.

It had been two days since she was able to spirit away Vorhonn and herself. She ransacked the cabin for all the necessary supplies and weapons she could carry. The cave was hidden from view, had a clean source of water from a nearby pool, and kept them cool from the harsh sun. Ten bags of arrows, the bows Falon'Din's Reach and Liege-Killer, and various swords lined one wall. The other had a small table placed against it where various herbs were used to make poultices. Next to it were containers of dried fruits and nuts, loaves of sweetbread, jars of honey, and a freshly skinned haunch of venison. They could remain hidden but for how long?

These were the doubts Suevi carried in her heart. She had followed Vorhonn the Red-Handed for these past four years, joining his crusade, and fighting a war that had now become her own. She knew what it was like to be unjustly accused, beaten down, then outcast from society. Thanks to Master Vorhonn, she learned the necessary combat and survival skills to live freely.

But how was she supposed to continue when her mentor and inspiration lay near oblivion?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

In the Fade…

Vorhonn the Red-Handed awakened to the smell of fish cooking over a spit. Groggily, he looked around him and was amazed by the spectacular mountain view. The crisp, cold air gave him a renewed sense of vitality. The rustling of leaves made him turn around to be greeted by a Dalish archer in golden scale-mail armor. The elf's features were hidden by an emerald hooded cloak. He carried twin daggers on his belt and a great war-bow on his back. His quiver was slung on one shoulder.

"Did you sleep well, my friend? Breakfast is almost ready. There's also a loaf of sweetbread, butter, and honey. Water if you're thirsty or wine if you'd like something harder." The elf's smile was dazzling in the morning light.

"Don't think me ungrateful, stranger. Looking around I realize this isn't Brecilian Forest. I was mortally wounded in combat but now I see that I have nary a scratch. I've traveled over much of Ferelden but cannot see a single familiar landmark. Have I… crossed over?" Vorhonn had a worried look on his face.

"Stranger? Now there's a laugh. You know me Vorhonn Aletys-Mal'Xian, also known as The Red-Handed. You've always known me…" The elf threw back his hood. Vorhonn stood upright, his mouth agape.

Standing before the master archer was Falon'Din himself in all of his terrible glory. His eyes glowed with a golden light, his long hair flowing freely. He cast his gaze onto Vorhonn who now had dropped to one knee. Falon'Din laughed heartily, so much so that he scared the birds in the trees who now took to the air.

He now unclasped his hooded cloak and laid it on the tree trunk. Falon'Din also removed his weapons and laid them too on the ground. The elven god of death turned back to Vorhonn.

"Will you please get up? I receive enough of that from way too many people. Let us eat first and enjoy this beautiful morning together. For we have many things to discuss… including the journey we will take together. It is not yet time for your spirit to leave Thedas. The Red-Handed will live on awhile longer."

Vorhonn joined his patron god by the fire and enjoyed the taste of the best fish he had ever eaten. He hoped Suevi would find her own way in the world and put her skills to good use.

Denerim

The Royal Palace

Main Audience Hall

"Ser Olin de Grise, by royal decree, you are hereby awarded the title Arl of South Reach by His Majesty King Alistair the Grey. With that title you are also awarded all the lands, levies, and taxes that are due to your station. You are also promoted to the rank of captain in the Royal Army and given permission to raise a body of troops in addition to the men you muster from South Reach."

The Lord Chamberlain, Rupert Montagu, shook hands with Ser Olin and placed the heavy chain and medallion onto the knight's neck. Then he took the banners of both South Reach and the Kingdom of Ferelden from a servant. These he placed into Ser Olin's gloved hands. Looking upon the proceedings were both King Alistair and Queen Leiliana from their ornate thrones.

"In addition, you are given a two-year grace from the Royal Exchequer to recoup the losses incurred by your predecessor. Thank you for your continued service to the Crown." He dismissed Ser Olin from the dais.

"Ser Johann Alvensen, of His Majesty's Royal Scouts.", announced the herald.

Ser Johann approached the dais and the Lord Chamberlain dressed in a black velvet doublet and brocade pants. Over his clothes he wore the white tabard that bore the blood-red dragon, the royal livery. He stopped before the Lord Chamberlain then dropped down to one knee. The king and queen looked on with faint amusement. A roll of vellum was passed to the Lord Chamberlain that bore the king's seal.

"In recognition of your loyal and valiant service to both king and country, His Majesty King Alistair the Grey promotes you to the rank of captain in the Royal Army. Further, you are hereby transferred from the Royal Scouts to the King's Armsmen. You are also given permission to raise a body of troops in service to the Crown." The Lord Chamberlain presented the document to Ser Johann who gladly accepted it.

"That is all for today. The king and queen will now retire for the midday meal. Sers Olin and Johann, a moment please." The Lord Chamberlain instructed the guards to clear the hall as both knights looked to one another in confusion. As soon as the heavy doors were locked, King Alistair stood up then strode down the stairs to where the knights stood. Queen Leiliana was busy chatting with her handmaidens.

"Gentlemen, let me come straight to the point. I will not tolerate the Red-Handed's insurrection any longer. The time has come for decisive action."

Both knights nodded their approval. Ser Olin had a feral gleam in his eye. He definitely wanted a rematch with that half-elven bastard. Being Arl of South Reach wasn't enough for the noble. He wanted to place the Red-Handed's head on a pike in front of South Reach's gates.

"I need some new officers to lead the army's pursuit of this traitor and put an end to his predations. You two will handpick the best cavalry, men-at-arms, infantry, and any other specialists that are needed for this task. Let Lord Rupert know what arms or equipment you need but I want the Red-Handed dead by winter. Ser Olin, you seem to have a question on your mind. Speak freely."

Ser Olin coughed once. "Why haven't you mustered the Grey Wardens? Surely they would be a better choice to pursue him. Begging your Majesty's pardon."

"While I am Commander of the Grey, I find their enthusiasm is lacking. For the time being, I have relieved the Wardens from this action. They will be held back as a reserve if you meet stiff resistance from the Red-Handed and his rebels. There will be no quarter given; no mercy will be shown to those who aid or harbor that fugitive. My word is law, gentlemen. Put them to the sword or torch these scum. I have no further patience for failure. Succeed in this my good captains and I will reward you well."

From her throne Queen Leiliana watched the private conference with interest. She knew her husband was keeping secrets again. She also knew that when it came to plots and intrigues, Alistair was not in her league. The handmaiden reminded her of her meeting with the Grand Cleric. Sighing, she finished her glass of Blonde Sun Vint then tossed it to a waiting manservant. This dirty war with the former High Constable had gone on long enough. She wanted the country united again to confront a much larger threat to the kingdom.

In another section of the Fade…

She moved through the tower, an ethereal figure of smoke and shadow. Her hooded visage made the lowliest of demons avert their gaze. In her right hand was a staff crafted from dragonbone that glowed faintly with a number of Tevinter runes. It thrummed in her hand as she made her way to the master study. Inside was a great pool of water surrounded by a primeval grotto. Faint hisses and burbles could be heard. Snakes slithered among the trees. The sorceress smiled as she waved her hand over the scrying pool. The waters rippled apart then showed Vorhonn the Red-Handed and Falon'Din gathering their gear then hiking off into the distance.

"Well, well, what have we here? A god and a half-elf taking a vacation? Hmm…that's worth looking into. I'll have to send a minion or two to find out what Falon'Din's game is now."

Morrigan, the Witch-Queen of the Wilds, licked her lips in anticipation. All the players were on the board. The endgame was about to start…


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Brecilian Forest

Suevi had been stalking the Orlesian Wardens for most of the afternoon. She noted that from the number of soldiers and the pack mules that accompanied them this was a large army marching through Ferelden. Although she had little education beyond being able to read and write, Suevi knew enough from her discussions with Master Vorhonn that the Orlesian Empire and the Kingdom of Ferelden were not exactly allies. Nobles from both countries still harbored ill will from the days of the Ferelden Revolution when King Maric assumed the throne. Before the Battle of Ostragar, his son King Cailan had corresponded with Empress Celene I in the hopes of arranging a formal alliance during the Fifth Blight. Unfortunately for all, those hopes were dashed when King Cailan was crushed by an ogre at Ostragar. Relations between Denerim and Val Royeaux were cordial but distant under the current king.

An uninvited army of Grey Wardens marching through the woods would not be welcome here in Ferelden.

She could only guess as to their mission here. Did it have anything to do with the Red-Handed's unyielding vendetta against the king here? There were several questions that she needed answers to and they only way she could get answers was to follow the Wardens. Suevi moved forward then spun around, unsheathing the runic greatsword from its scabbard. The blonde archer held it in front of her, eyes looking at the treeline. The Tevinter runes mutely glowed in the sunlight.

"Well met, Suevi Swift-Kill. I greet you with open arms."

Standing before her was the legendary craftsman Varathorn and a group of Dalish hunters. They were attired in leather armor and buckskins; thankfully none of the hunters had nocked their bows or unsheathed their blades. Embarrassed, she put away her greatsword then slowly approached the elves.

"Master Varathorn, I too greet you with open arms. Forgive my rudeness in brandishing naked steel." Suevi gave the greeting in fluent Dalish.

Looks of amazement and murmurs of approval were exchanged among the elves. Varathorn clapped his hands excitedly. Vorhonn the Red-Handed had trained his apprentice well. Suevi grinned back at the group. Then she gathered up her courage to speak again.

"I have a boon to ask of you, Master Varathorn. The Red-Handed lies mortally wounded and have need of a healer's services…" Suevi saw the Dalish raise up a gloved hand.

"Say no more, Suevi Swift-Kill. You and Vorhonn are friends of the Dalish. Among us is a healer of considerable skill. Take us to the Red-Handed and we will speak further. Also, we are aware of the Orlesian Wardens in our forest; our trackers will keep watch and hopefully learn their intentions. Keeper Lanaya is also eager to speak with you."

Suevi Swift-Kill nodded once and led the party down a hidden deer path back to the cave where her mentor lay unconscious. She sincerely hoped that it wasn't too late to bring around the master archer. If the presence of the Orlesian Wardens wasn't enough, she also felt that some great tragedy was just over the horizon. If it came, the blonde archer would meet it with steel in her hand.

Denerim

The Royal Palace

Queen Leiliana strode into one of the several sitting rooms designed to host visiting royalty. The white and red banners of the Kingdom of Ferelden hung over a polished oval table. There were several cushioned chairs crafted from ironbark, a gift from the Dalish in better times. On the table were a variety of refreshments, mostly pastry from the bakers in the market district. Two chilled bottles of Blonde Sun Vint sat in a bucket of ice-cold mountain water. The Grand Cleric of Ferelden sat on an ornate couch imported from Nevarra, inlaid with volcanic aurum. She was a plain, almost mousy looking woman in her dark brown and orange robes. Frei Obrec was still new to her role, depending upon the queen's support to run her order's chapters in Ferelden. Unknown to the rest of the court, the Grand Cleric was the illegitimate daughter of an Orlesian Marquessa and a confidant to the present queen. She rose as the queen approached her.

"Your Majesty, you look as radiant as ever." Frei winked at the queen.

"Your Grace, flattery will get you nowhere." Leiliana gave her friend a hug.

After dismissing the servants, she instructed her guards that she was not to be disturbed unless the king requested to see her. They barred the entrance and the two most powerful women in Ferelden sat and started their discussion.

"So, Frei, has the Marquis de Gauthier and the Orlesian Wardens crossed over?" Leiliana sipped wine as she spoke.

"Yes, he has. Seigneur Phillipe Valois also is with him."

"The Empire's Commander of the Grey? That is excellent. How many Wardens did they bring?" Leilana poured a fresh glass for herself and for the Grand Cleric. They began to giggle like the initiates they once were. Frei finished her glazed pastry before answering.

"Including the chevaliers, a full regiment is on the move towards the Brecilian Forest. It should be more than enough troops to assist you in ending this costly vendetta. Will Alistair see the light of reason?"

Leiliana stood up from the sofa and looked out towards the sunset. Thirty years ago, everything was much simpler than today. Alistair wasn't the only one yearning to draw steel and test his mettle in the heat of combat. While she enjoyed the perks that came from being married into royalty, Leiliana fervently wished to camp underneath the stars and chart her own destiny. She finished another glass of Sun Blonde Vint then turned back to her friend.

"He will have no choice in the matter, Frei. The kingdom has suffered enough from this dirty little war. It is a matter of honor that should have been resolved long ago. Alistair doesn't know it but if he succeeds in slaying Vorhonn the Red-Handed, all of Thedas may be lost."


End file.
